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Classic Romance

What do you call a bevy of horny naked gay guys swimming in the ocean?

Luke has always been a bit of a loner. He’s spending his gap year surfing the best waves the world has to offer, so when he overhears a group of surfers extolling the virtues of a secluded beach with the best waves ever he has to see for himself. Nothing fazes him from his pursuit of the perfect wave: not the dangerous meandering path down the cliff to the beach, or the unexpected storm that sends him scampering for cover, or the fact that it’s a haven for nude bathers. He realizes he’s been set up, however, when he discovers the beach is an enclave of gay men who are far more predatory than any shark in the sea. Will he be able to escape their bite?  

Salted Mixed Sluts


Luke Hoenig’s the name and I’m hot. Not as in the handsome-with-a-killer-body way – although I’m that, too – but as in the excess of warmth. I ducked into the faux beach-hut design café to take advantage of the air conditioning and their wicked triple espresso, made just the way I liked it: enough of a caffeine hit to heart start an elephant. I’m no elephant: I am a trim, tanned and terrific surfer boy who is spending his gap year searching for the world’s biggest and best waves.

I’d heard through the surfer grape vine about the Demon Curl of Shark Bay. The Demon Curl was legendary and I’d sought it all my surfing life, never expecting to find it in such an unprepossessing spot; a picturesque and as yet unspoiled hamlet on the north coast. As I was headed in that general direction it was no hardship to make a slight detour to see the conditions for myself.

I’d been in the town for three days and, apart from the demon coffee, I’d been heartily disappointed. The surf in the tiny enclave had not lived up to the whispered hype. Truth is, I was tired of the constant travel. I’d been searching for six months so far with little success. I’d palled up with various groups on my journey but those friendships were fleeting and washed off much like sand washed on my body in the surf. I’d had some fun but it was a lonely existence.

For all the connotations of its name no one had ever been taken by one of the sea predators at Shark Bay and I had hoped it would prove amenable in both surf and salvation. I’d been disappointed in both. The surf was as flat as the asphalt main street that housed the Beach Hut café and the meager supply of bait and tackle shops, the boat hire, the pub and the general store-cum-post office.

Normally, I had no problem getting my knob polished on a regular basis but the local chicks proved stand-offish even though I turned on my killer charm, so I was in serious danger of blue balls. Other surfers in the town had split into cliques but none of them seemed keen on admitting me to their ranks. One group in particular – all locals I discovered subsequently – were particularly belligerent, as if they had a proprietorial interest in the waves in the area. They always disappeared with their boards strapped to the roofs of their off-road vehicles after a noisy breakfast in the café.

At the end of a dispiriting first day on the beach where I, along with other disappointed surfers, had watched an ocean as flat as a geek’s chest I was pissed off to overhear the locals boasting of the waves they’d discovered a little way along the coast. Obviously they were not the caring and sharing type. I could live with that.

The next day I made sure I was at the café at sparrow’s fart, ready to follow at a respectable distance when the locals headed off with their superior knowledge of the area. I kept a safe distance behind so they couldn’t see me although I lost them on a number of occasions and had to double back. If they’d been tour guides they could not have done a better job of showing me the highlights of the coastal area but I was too obsessed with the perfect wave and keeping track of my quarry to really notice the scenery.

eBook Cover Price: 0.99

Length: 7427 words

Gay Virgin, Beach, Surfers, Voyeurism, Romance

Heat rating: 4

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